The terror of the humble slave
Gave place to the o'erpowering flow
Of the high feelings nature gave—
Which only gifted spirits know.
He touched the brow-the lip-it seemed
His pencil had some magic power;
The eye with deeper feeling beamed-
Sebastian then forgot the hour!
Forgot his master, and the threat
Of punishment still hanging o'er him;
For, with each touch, new beauties met
And mingled in the face before him.
At length 'twas finished; rapturously
He gazed-could aught more beauteous be!—
Awhile absorbed, entranced he stood,
Then started-horror chilled his blood!
His master and the pupils all
Were there e'en at his side!
The terror stricken slave was mute-
Mercy would be denied,
E'en could he ask it-so he deemed,
And the poor boy half lifeless seemed.
Speechless, bewildered—for a space
They gazed upon that perfect face,
Each with an artist's joy;
At length Murillo silence broke,
And with affected sternness spoke—
"Who is your master, boy?"
You, señor," said the trembling slave.
"Nay, who, I mean, instruction gave,
Before that Virgin's head you drew?"
Again he answered, "Only you."
"I gave you none," Murillo cried!
"But I have heard," the boy replied,
"What you to others said."
"And more than heard," in kinder tone,
The painter said; "tis plainly shown
That you have profited."
"What (to his pupils) is his meed? Reward or punishment?"
"Reward, reward!" they warmly cried.
(Sebastian's ear was bent
To catch the sounds he scarce believed,
But with imploring look received.)
"What shall it be?" They spoke of gold
And of a splendid dress;
But still unmoved Sebastian stood,
Silent and motionless.
"Speak!" said Murillo, kindly; "choose Your own reward-what shall it be? Name what you wish, I'll not refuse: Then speak at once and fearlessly." "O! if I dared!"--Sebastian knelt, And feelings he could not control, (But feared to utter even then)
With strong emotion, shook his soul.
66 Courage!" his master said, and each
Essayed, in kind, half-whispered speech,
To soothe his overpowering dread.
He scarcely heard, till some one said,
"Sebastian-ask-you have your choice,
Ask for your freedom! "—At the word,
The suppliant strove to raise his voice:
At first but stifled sobs were heard,
And then his prayer-breathed fervently—
"O! master, make my father free!"
"Him and thyself, my noble boy!"
Warmly the painter cried;
Raising Sebastian from his feet,
He pressed him to his side.
"Thy talents rare, and filial love,
E'en more have fairly won;
Still be thou mine by other bonds-
My pupil and my son."
Murillo knew, e'en when the words
Of generous feeling passed his lips,
Sebastian's talents soon must lead
To fame, that would his own eclipse;
And constant to his purpose still,
He joyed to see his pupil gain,
Beneath his care, such matchless skill
As made his name the pride of Spain.
2. How may words be made Emphatic?
3. Do all persons Emphasize in the same way?
4. How are we to determine when and how to Emphasize?
5. Define Emphasis of Force.
6. Define Emphasis of Stress.
7. Give an illustration of the different kinds of Emphasis by
Pauses are suspensions of the voice between words and sentences. No definite rules can be given to guide the reader or speaker in the use of Pauses. Their length and frequency can be determined only by the sentiment.
Unimpassioned, didactic thought demands but modate Pauses; gay, lively, and joyous thought, very short Pauses; solemnity, sublimity, grandeur, and reverence, long Pauses; while impassioned thought may demand long or short Pauses.
A Pause should always be made before and after an emphatic word.
It will hardly be necessary to say that the marks of punctuation do not indicate the rhetorical Pauses. They may or may not harmonize.
EXAMPLE: JOYOUS THOUGHT.
Very Short Pauses, Expulsive and Explosive Forms, Pure Tone, Energetic Force, Radical Stress, High Pitch, Rapid Movement.
Mercutio's Description of Queen Mab.
O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you!
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn by a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces of the smallest spider's web;
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash of film;
Her wagoner a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight.
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as he lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice;
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
And healths five fathoms deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again.
EXAMPLE: SOLEMNITY AND SUBLIMITY.
Very Long Pauses, Expulsive Form, Orotund Quality, Moderate Force, Thorough Stress, Low Pitch, Slow Movement.
Hamlet's Soliloquy.
SHAKESPEARE.
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, by opposing, end them? To die; to sleep;
No more: and, by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to-'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die; to sleep;
To sleep! perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect,
That makes calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who'd these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death-
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveler returns-puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
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